


Experimentation

by INMH



Series: Merry Month of Masturbation Fills (2018) [15]
Category: The Alienist (TV), The Alienist - Caleb Carr
Genre: Drama, M/M, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Sexual Content, Strong Language, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-04 10:48:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14591394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INMH/pseuds/INMH
Summary: “You and I have been friends for far too long.”





	Experimentation

“It’s just an experiment.”  
  
“You and I,” John said, shakily, as he unbuttoned his pants, “Have been friends for far too long. You’re rubbing off on me.”  
  
Laszlo’s response was a small, tight, half-amused smile; had John been with his usual nighttime companions they might have offered up some saucy remark about who it really was that was going to be ‘rubbing off’ in the immediate future. But such humor wasn’t Laszlo Kreizler’s style.  
  
It took an eternity to undo his trousers, because John was distracted by the silence, and by the gaze he could feel trained on him. And also, he’d been drinking, and his fingers weren’t as deft as usual. “What’s this for,” John asked, desperate for something, anything to fill the silence. “What in God’s name are you researching now?” He dared to meet Laszlo’s gaze, and the intensity of it, the heat behind it, made him gulp, mouth suddenly too dry.  
  
“Voyeurism,” Laszlo said. “I have had patients in the past, ones who possessed a compulsion to watch others engage in sexual behavior. Consensually or otherwise.”  
  
“Peeping Toms, you mean,” John remarked, slowly pushing his trousers down, trying not to think too much on the fact that he was exposing himself now to a man he had known for nearly twenty years, since they were about eight or nine. He did not take hold of himself yet, however- he wanted to know what lie they were telling each other tonight. “And why do you need me?”  
  
For a long moment, Laszlo fixed him with a gaze that was unreadable. “I need to understand what appeals to the watcher,” Laszlo finally said, eyes very deliberately straying no lower than John’s shoulders. “I need to understand what’s to be gained by observing, but not participating.”  
  
So much went unsaid: ‘Why not go to a brothel, there are women who would gladly take your money for the same thing; why not go to a brothel, there are _men_ who would gladly take your money for the same thing; why of all people would you ask me to participate in this when there are so many other ways you might go about this; if this is just an experiment, then why _me_?’  
  
But John knew the answer to those questions, an answer that did not dare be spoken aloud between the two of them. And so he accepted the night’s lie, that it was simply an experiment, that there was nothing more to be gained from this for Laszlo but data and perspective.  
  
John clenched his fingers in the fabric of his trousers, eyes jumping between Laszlo and every other imaginable place in the room, uncertain as to whether or not he should maintain eye-contact or not, whether or not he should contribute to the lie by pretending this was a terrible chore to him, or if he should offer some honesty to the evening by looking Laszlo in the goddamn _eye_ as he did this, a subtle indicator that there was far more to this than experimentation and John _knew it,_ damn it.  
  
Laszlo must have been getting uncomfortable with the amount of time that had passed, because he shifted in his seat a little and finally said, “Whenever you’re ready.”  
  
John picked a bad week to stop drinking.  
  
He plunged into it, knowing if he thought too much about it that he’d stumble his way through it and make a mess of everything, even though making a mess of things was exactly what he was aiming to do. John’s eyes, against his best intentions, gravitated back to Laszlo; the stimulation was bringing well-worn fantasies to the forefront of his mind, and it was awkward to find himself fantasizing in front of the man who was the usual subject of those fantasies. John had a fine imagination, fueled by more than a few nights with less-than-reputable company, and there’s something incredibly scandalous about picturing Laszlo in the role that several men and women have played for him in the past, usually in the confines of a brothel.  
  
It was embarrassing how quickly he got hard. John had underestimated how potent the effect would be, a hand on his cock and Laszlo watching him from the chair and fleeting mental pictures of Laszlo naked, touching him, kissing him, pressing up against him with a particular intimacy they had not yet shared together. John’s eyes rolled shut as a familiar picture settled in: Him on his knees, in bed, with Laszlo leaning over his back, pushing inside him, and though he couldn’t feel it, it sent a powerful charge of arousal through John, and he started shaking slightly, one hand jerking his cock and the other coming up to press over his mouth.  
  
John cracked his eyes open again, and was gratified to see that Laszlo was still staring at him with dark, intense eyes. He would stare at John’s face, then flick his gaze down to his cock, and then back up again, observing with complete silence- if John didn’t know better, didn’t know the circumstances, he would swear that Laszlo was watching a patient do some odd thing that required him to remain unreadable, professional. It hadn’t escaped John’s notice that he was keeping his legs crossed, too, so that it wouldn’t be apparent if he developed an erection.  
  
_Are you getting what you want, Laszlo,_ John wished he was brave enough to ask. _Is this **informative**_ _enough for you?_ He wanted to walk over, wanted to slide his hands through Laszlo’s hair and part his legs and see if he was enjoying the show or not; he wanted to see something other than clinical detachment in his eyes. More than anything, he wanted Laszlo’s hands on him instead of his own.  
  
Those thoughts did more for him than his hand did. When he came, it was into a handkerchief that John would probably have to burn later on.  
  
John managed to keep his composure as he came and afterwards when it was over. He did not quite look Laszlo in the eye, trying to pretend that there was nothing especially interesting or mortifying about what he’d just been doing, like this was within the bounds of what Laszlo or anyone else usually asked of him.  
  
“Was that enough, Laszlo?” John asked, trying to put disinterest and dryness into his voice to cover anything less appropriate that Laszlo might hear.  
  
His friend looked at him for all the world like this had been nothing out of the ordinary, exactly the way John was acting, except… Laszlo had always been hard to read, had always been good at schooling himself into something cool and detached, but right now John was seeing something in his eyes that looked warm and dark- the sort of look that John was more accustomed to seeing in the eyes of the women who watched John strip his clothes off.  
  
It was _interest._  
  
“Yes, John,” Laszlo said softly, and John swallowed thickly.  
  
“It was enough?”  
  
“It was excellent. Thank you.”  
  
They left it at that, and maybe it was for the better.  
  
-End

**Author's Note:**

> Someone: “So are you getting tired of finding ways to get Laszlo and John to fuck yet”  
> Me: “no not really”


End file.
